


In All but Blood

by RicePaper_Fox



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Coming of Age, Multi, obscure mythology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:42:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RicePaper_Fox/pseuds/RicePaper_Fox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Patroclus accidentally kills a friend in an argument, he and his father are forced to flee to Phthia, where the queen is said to be a goddess and he's asked to look after her tiny son, unknowing that a series of events has been put into play that will change the world forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a project that I started back in 2007, when I wanted to write a historically/mythologically accurate story about Achilles and Patroclus, part of the concept being that I took the magic out and explained how it could have really been. It was a huge learning experience at the time, in terms of writing, obscure mythology, and history, and in many ways the project, at least in terms of the concept and characters, remains dear to my heart. Unfortunately, I never finished it, but I had a request to post it here for download. I'll combine chapters, and when it's all up, I might orphan it for anyone else who wants to take a go at it.

There was a scream from close-by, and more shouts of alarm from farther away, but Patroclus wasn't hearing any of it. All he could do was stare at where Clysonymus was laying against the wall. Bruises were forming on his neck, and a pool of blood was forming under his head. It began to seep toward Patroclus' feet, but the boy didn't move, just stared as it made a dark red stream across the stone. A strong hand grabbed his arm and dragged him to his feet. They were running in the direction of the house, and finally he looked up to see the scared face of his father.

 

“Get our cloaks,” Menoetius yelled. “Prepare a horse, quickly!”

 

“What's going on? Where are you going?” Patroclus recognized the voice of Polymele.

 

“There's been an accident...Patroclus got in a fight with Clysonymus, and...I don't know where we're going. Anywhere.”

 

“Go to my father's house. He'll take care of you there. I'll join you as soon as I can.”

 

“Will you be alright?”

 

“Being a woman is not my weakness, and I'm Myrmidon.”

 

Patroclus felt himself lifted onto a horse, and his father mounted behind him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He was coming out of his daze, and was beginning to comprehend the world around him. He turned to Polymele, and saw the same sad, frightened look that was on his father's face.

 

“I'm sorry,” he said, suddenly. “I didn't mean to. It was an accident.”

 

She reached up and took her stepson's hand. “I know. You're a good boy, of course you wouldn't do this on purpose. Just keep being good, do what you're told, and be brave.”

 

Patroclus gave a small, frantic nod. Within moments, he had lost sight of her as the horse set off at a hard gallop.

~*~

 

Thetis held her son's hands as he attempted to climb on the rocks. He was able to walk on his own, but was barely two years old, and she couldn't bear to think of him hurting himself. She wouldn't dream of quashing the adventurousness in his nature, even this early in life. From a little ways away her husband sat on a rock watching the two. He then looked past the two of them, and she turned to look at what had distracted him.

 

A traveler was riding towards them, covered by a dirty cloak and sitting on an exhausted horse. In front of him he held a boy no older than six or seven. The boy didn't seem tired, but rather had a dead expression in his eyes. They stopped suddenly on the road, and the man stared at them. Peleus stood suddenly, and walked over to where the horse was stopped.

 

“Menoetius?” he said, staring disbelievingly. “What...?”

 

Menoetius climbed off the horse, and dragged his son down with him. The boy stood for a few moments looking dazed, then blinked and looked around him. He looked up at Peleus, then across at Thetis and Achilles curiously. His father gave him a push in their direction.

 

“Go on, Patroclus,” he said, encouragingly.

 

The boy—Patroclus—approached slowly at first, and smiled as Achilles attempted to make a step in his direction. He made a strange sort of gurgling noise, and tried to pry himself from his mother's hands to reach the older boy. Patroclus walked forward and knelt down to Achilles' height.

 

“What?!”

 

Both Thetis and Patroclus looked up at Peleus' exclamation. Meneotius was looking very sombre, and was silently pleading with Peleus. Finally, a sigh and a nod. The two approached Thetis and the boys.

 

“Menoetius and Patroclus will be staying here from now on,” Peleus told his wife. Then, “I'll explain later.”

 

“Patroclus,” Menoetius said, a small smile forming on his face. “This is Peleus—Polymele's father—and his new wife, Thetis. I'm guessing this strapping young man is Achilles.”

 

“Indeed he is,” Thetis said, smiling. “and he's taken a liking to your son here.”

 

“We're going to have to have Patroclus look after him, then,” Peleus said, laughing. “He'll need someone closer to his own age than myself to be there—after a while, they stop caring what their fathers say. And I wonder whether some of the other boys will be unwilling to fight back once Achilles is at the point where he's pushing them around.”

 

Menoetius turned to his father-in-law and gave a grateful smile. Achilles gave another indistinct noise, and laughed.

~*~

Polymele showed up a few days after Patroclus and Menoetius. There were fading purple bruises where someone had grabbed her arm, but other than that she was acting perfectly happy. She was delighted with her new brother, bouncing him and smiling.

 

“He's got the grip of a a titan,” she said, prying a strand of her hair from his hand.

 

After the initial wonder at Achilles, Patroclus had lost interest. He couldn't understand women's fascination with babies. Even at two years, he didn't do much but eat, sleep, and grab stuff, most of which ended up in his mouth. Although it was fun to play with him sometimes, for the most part Patroclus found him rather boring.

 

A lot of his time was spent walking on the beach or through the rocks and trees on the mountainside above it. It wasn't so different from Opus, and on clear days he thought he may be able to see Euboea across the channel from atop the rocks. Some days Polymele or his father would come find him to see what he was up to, and a couple times even Peleus or Thetis would come talk to him.

 

“Have you made any friends?” Polymele asked once.

 

“Not really,” he replied, picking up a rock and tossing it into the water. “Father says I'm not allowed to talk to anyone. Says it'll defile them.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Polymele said. “I suppose he feels the gods will forgive our family.”

 

“Hey,” he said, suddenly. “Is Thetis really a goddess? I heard some of the slaves talking about her.”

 

Polymele was silent for a moment and adjusted Achilles, whom she had been holding, on her hip. Then she sat down on a rock and shifted her brother onto her lap.

 

“Did you know that we share the same bloodline?” She asked.

 

“What?”

 

“How much do you know about your grandmother?”

 

“Aegina?” Patroclus said, frowning slightly. “I've heard say she was a sea nymph, but I'm not sure how much I believe that one. She had two sons—Aeacus, and who was immortal, and my father.”

 

“Menoetius,” Polymele said, nodding. “The immortal son Aeacus had a son, too. His name was Peleus. Yes,” she smiled at Patroclus' surprised expression. “my own father. For circumstances similar to your own, he fled here himself.”

 

Patroclus looked out across the water.

 

“Were you ever told what happened to her?” Polymele asked.

 

“No.”

 

“One day she went out for a walk on the beach, and she never came back. She was getting older, but was still so beautiful, and nobody knew what happened to her. They said she 'went home'. People make stories to explain what they can't in any other way.

 

“Is Thetis a goddess? She's a very beautiful woman, who showed up one day across the sea with my father, already married. Nobody knows who she is or where she came from. I wonder if sometimes the gods are given credit where they don't deserve it.”

 

Patroclus thought about this for the rest of the day. He looked at Thetis, and the way her hair shone in the light. At times she seemed just a normal woman, trying to live a normal life. But at others she almost did seem a goddess. He could see why people could get so confused about it.

 

That night, Menoetius came into his son's room before he went to bed. He sat on the bed next to where Patroclus was laying and stretched out his legs.

 

“How are you doing?” he asked. Patroclus knew the true meaning behind the words, though—Menoetius had a way of saying things in a completely casual manner, but mean something much more serious.

 

“Okay, I guess,” he replied. “It still hurts.”

 

Menoetius smiled, and suddenly Patroclus felt a strange fear grip him. There in the dark, he had never seen his father look so old. His expression was so sad, and all the lines on his face seemed exaggerated. The lamplight coming in the doorway brought the out the greys in his golden-brown hair. For the first time, Patroclus saw how much older he was than Peleus.

 

“You look so much like your mother,” Menoetius said, brushing his son's hair from his face. “She was dark, too. It was her black hair and golden skin that I fell in love with first.”

 

“Father...” Patroclus' voice was quavering.

 

“But it was your grandmother that had those green eyes.”

 

“Polymele told me what happened to her,” Patroclus said. “About how she went for a walk and didn't come back. Why did she do that?”

 

Menoetius looked at his son for a long moment, then across the room thoughtfully.

 

“I wondered about that for a long time, too,” he said, finally. “I still don't know the answer. I can only guess. Sometimes people do things for there is no one, single answer. That's the way it always is with big decisions. But I think she did it, mostly, for the faith of others.

 

“You see, Patroclus, we live in an age of heroes—Heracles, Jason, Theseus—but when we're all gone, what is there but stories? The tales of gods and magic is what parents will have to tell their children. And if that spell is broken, what will people have left to believe in?

 

“I think she may have left to preserve that magic, so that people will have a grand story to tell their children. So that boys will still have their heroes, someone to aspire to be, and girls will still be charmed by the courage of the women who hold on through their loves' hardships.

 

“And who knows? Maybe, if you become a hero, you will be the story that is told. And some little boy will grow up with your great deeds, and the romance in your story. He'll be there someday to lay a wreath on your tomb in your honour.”

 

“Really?” Patroclus looked up at his father in wonder.

 

“Mmhm.” Menoetius smiled down at his son again, that same sad smile. “Patroclus--” he paused. “I can't stay here. I'm a king, and I can't abandon my people.”

 

Patroclus looked desperately up at his father. “But--”

 

Menoetius laid a finger on Patroclus' lips.

 

“I will stay until you are purified,” he said. “but then I must leave. You will stay here for a couple more years, and then you and Achilles will leave. It's already been arranged—you will go to live and train will Chiron.”

 

Patroclus sat up suddenly. “You mean...?”

 

“Yes, that Chiron, who trained Jason himself.” Patroclus glowed, and Menoetius laughed and ruffled his hair. “It's late. You should get to sleep.”

 

He leaned down and kissed his son's hair, then stood up and left. It was still a long time before Patroclus got to sleep, though.

~*~

The morning of the purification ceremony was bright, hot, and muggy. Slaves stood by Thetis and Polymele, fanning them down, and Peleus and Menoetius wiped sweat from the backs of their necks. Patroclus thanked the gods that it was hot the day he left Opus—he was dressed in the clothes he had been wearing when he arrived.

 

An altar had been set up on the beach, a simple ring of stones and a fire. A piglet was held in the priest's hands, squealing and writhing in an attempt to get free. Peleus pulled out a knife, and Patroclus gripped the handle. Together, they slit the creature's throat, and Patroclus looked in a sort of horrified fascination as the blood spilled into a shallow bowl. The blood was then poured over Patroclus' head, and he felt a wave of nausea as it ran onto his face and hands.

 

A burning brand was pulled out of the fire, and waved in front of him, and he choked on the smoke. His bloodied garments were removed and placed in the fire. The priest lifted him up, and waded into the water, and Patroclus gasped as he was lowered into the freezing water. When he came back up above the surface, though, the blood had been washed off, and was fading away into the sea. A white robe was then placed on his shoulders.

 

The meat of the piglet was divided up, placed in fat, and covered in barley. It was placed on the fire to cook. The offering of meat was given to the gods, and Patroclus was given a cup with a very small amount of wine. He had never had the drink undiluted before, and almost choked. The adults laughed.

 

“Don't get used to it,” Peleus said, smiling. “Only barbarians drink it like this on any occasion other than celebrations.”

 

Patroclus was just glad when he was allowed to leave. He was changed into more comfortable clothes, and ran off. Behind him, he could hear the adults laughing.

 

~*~

 

Menoetius left the next day. As his horse was being prepared, he sat on the terrace with his son, looking out at the water. Patroclus was doing his best not to cry, but it ended up being too much for the boy. He did his best to hide his face as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

 

“Hey,” Menoetius said, looking at his son. “Don't worry. It's not like this is a real goodbye. Nobody's going to stop you from ever seeing me again. This is all part of growing up.”

 

Patroclus nodded furiously, and wished with all his might that he could stop crying. He felt ashamed at acting like such a baby. “I know,” he choked out.

 

Menoetius wiped the tears from his son's face. “You'll see. You'll be too busy to even miss me. And you'll eventually stop caring what an old sod like me thinks about you.”

 

Patroclus really hoped that his father was joking about this. It was just too hard for him to believe.

 

Polymele gave him one last hug before mounting her own horse.

 

“Be good,” she said. “Work hard. Make your father proud.” Patroclus nodded. “We'll see each other again. I promise.”

~*~  
Three years after Patroclus arrived in Phthia, he and Achilles left to live with Chiron.

 

Achilles had grown increasingly attached to the older boy after his mother had left. Patroclus never told anyone that he ran after Thetis when he saw her pulling a boat into the sea early one morning. He remembered what his father told him about why Aegina disappeared, and instead almost even encouraged rumors that she returned home. Achilles continued to believe that she lived under the sea with her father. In reality, Patroclus had no idea what happened to her.

 

Neither of them received any sort of instruction in combat. At ten years old, Patroclus was far behind any other boys his age. Instead, he jealously watch their lessons from afar, and imitated what he could. But with no teacher, his movements were awkward, sometimes even clumsy.

 

Peleus accompanied the boys when they left, along with a single guard. Achilles rode most the way in front of Patroclus. The way led them up north, away from the sea and through Thessaly. A night was spent at the base of Mount Olympus, at the top of which a storm rumbled that seemed to last forever.

 

“It's okay,” Patroclus told a frightened Achilles. “Zeus is a good god. He won't hurt us. He's just warning us, telling us not to try to climb up there.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because that's the home of the gods. Men are not allowed up there.”

 

The next day they continued even farther, into lands that were rumored to be inhabited by semi-barbaric tribes. In another couple of days, they finally came to a stop.

 

“This is as far as I take you,” Peleus said. Then, at Patroclus' horrified expression, he said, “Don't worry. You just go straight up this mountain. Chiron will find you—he's clever like that.”

 

So Patroclus and Achilles continued on their own. They were soon deep in a forest, and Patroclus had to try to work his way through. He instinctively held Achilles to him, and Achilles clutched both the horse's mane and the arm around his chest. Patroclus abruptly stopped the horse as he heard approaching hooves. Instead of the great centaur he imagined, though, an old man on a mule emerged from the trees.

 

“You Patroclus and Achilles?” he asked in a gruff voice. Without waiting for an answer, he said, “Good. You've probably guessed who I am. Come on”

 

Patroclus' jaw dropped when he realized that this was Chiron, the great teacher and wise king. It was Achilles that voiced his thoughts.

 

“You're not a centaur.”

 

Chiron looked around. “Give it some time, and we'll what people say about you, boy. In the meantime, would you reject me as a teacher?”

 

Achilles shook his head, eyes wide. They rode through the forest in silence. As they reached a clearing, another boy emerged from a cave and ran to Chiron.

 

“Never mind,” Chiron said to him. “Just because I'm old doesn't mean I need help. Go get my staff, boy.”

 

The boy went back into the cave and came back carrying a thick oak staff. Chiron climbed stiffly off his mule and grabbed the staff from the boy. Patroclus dismounted his horse and helped Achilles off too.

 

“This is Medeus,” Chiron said, slapping the other boy on the shoulder. “Medeus, this is Patroclus, son of Menoetius, and Achilles, son of Peleus.”

 

Medeus stiffened at their names, and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Chiron looked between them for a few moments, and then glared at Medeus. Finally, the other boy gave a nod in their direction.

 

“How you doin'?” he said, the cold look still on his face.

 

He seemed to be about the same age, but Patroclus had never seen anyone like him. His skin was dark, and his hair were black as night, as were his eyes. His accent seemed to be a strange mix of Corinthian, Athenian, and something else he couldn't name. With a cold look, Medeus turned and walked off.

 

“Ooh,” Patroclus said, sneering. “'look at me, aren't I so great, nobody can even figure out where I'm from. I don't need anyone but myself.'”

 

Achilles gave a laugh at Patroclus' imitation, but stopped immediately at the look on Chiron's face.

 

“Don't think you're the only ones with problems,” the old man said. “If anything, that boy has had it far worse than either of you have.”

 

Medeus didn't speak to either Patroclus or Achilles for a long time afterward. It didn't matter, anyway—both were too tired to be worried about the other boy's behavior. Looking back, it was quite an accomplishment, since more often than not Medeus was paired with Patroclus when Chiron was teaching them how to fight. When mistakes were made, Chiron might bang his staff on their shins, then yell at them to do whatever it was again, and Patroclus started to wonder where people got any of their ideas about their teacher. On the other hand, he was less somewhat rough with Achilles, and seeing the tension between him and Medeus, had Achilles learn with Patroclus, who tended to go somewhat easier on him, due to Achilles' much younger age. Sometimes Achilles might sense this, and would then yell at Patroclus for letting him win.

 

When they weren't fighting, they were being taught how to get along in the wild. Medeus generally was better than Achilles and Patroclus at this, although Patroclus was glad to find he was a faster learner when it came to tending wounds and curing illnesses. For the most part, they had to come up with their own food, although once again, Chiron was easier on Achilles.

 

One night, when Chiron was gone and Achilles had fallen asleep, Medeus finally spoke to Patroclus.

 

“Your fathers were Argonauts, right?” he asked.

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“What did they think of Jason?” Medeus asked.

 

Patroclus thought for a moment. He wasn't quite sure what to say. “I dunno,” he answered finally. “They thought he was a good leader.”

 

“They didn't say anything about how he acted toward other people?”

 

“No,” Patroclus said. “What's this about?”

 

“My mother's Medea,” he finally sighed. “I was named after her. She was the one that helped Jason get the Golden Fleece.”

 

“What? Really?” Patroclus lit up, but his smile faded when he saw Medeus' dark look. “You don't like him or something?”

 

“No,” Medeus said, as if it were obvious. Then he sighed again. “My father fell in love with another woman when he returned to Corinth, and married her instead of my mother—he abandoned her and her kids. But...I realized I'm being really unfair. I still feel the right to hate Jason for what he did to my mother. I've never really met him, though, and I can't go around hating people because they were associated with him. I was stupid, and I'm sorry.”

 

Patroclus thought about this. It seemed to be stupid of him, too, to continue to be mad at someone when they realized their own mistakes. He looked down at Achilles, who was curled up under a cloak. When he looked back at Medeus, he was smiling.

 

“It's okay,” he said. “We've all got our problems, right?”

 

Medeus nodded. "Yeah, I guess so."


	2. Chapter 2

Patroclus gave a grunt as Medeus hit him in the stomach with his wooden sword, but he didn't go down. Not that Chiron expected him to—the three boys had been smacked around enough to handle a blow to the gut.

Even in two years, he saw all three of his boys grow and develop their own, individual personalities. And he was proud of each of them.

Patroclus was the quietest of the three, and tended to think his actions through. Sometimes Chiron worried a bit, as Patroclus would get a strange look in his eyes, something he'd never seen in a boy his age. Like a forty-year-old man was looking out through the eyes of a child. Then, as soon as it came, it was gone, and he was twelve again. Maybe it was because of this, he seemed to be the law keeper among them—all it took was one severe look, and the other two complied while acting like it had been their own decision.

Medeus, in the meantime, could act so childish that it made Chiron crazy. He was laid back, and always joking around. And yet, he knew, Medeus never missed a thing, and often even saw things that the other two did not, even if the boy didn't understand these things the way Patroclus might have. He was the most shrewd, and could easily adjust to accommodate to situations, and often even turn it to his advantage.

Achilles was by far the most athletic of the group. He was able to keep up with them in races, and was fast becoming the best hunter. It wasn't long before Patroclus and Medeus were losing fights to him in earnest. He tended to think about things far less than the other two, though. This wasn't out of stupidity—every time Chiron started to think this, he remembered Heracles, who, despite the fact that he was tough, and really a very good kid, was as dumb as a post—but simply that Achilles didn't care enough to. He could be plenty smart when he did care. Not that it really mattered in the end; Achilles made things work out for himself out of sheer force of character, and unlike Medeus, made things bend to his own will instead of working around problems.

Chiron was brought back to the present as Patroclus gave a yell of pain. The boy was sitting on the ground, holding the side of his neck in pain. Medeus hovered over him, looking both guilty and worried. A little ways away, Achilles was looking anxiously at the older two. It didn't take long to guess what had happened—it didn't matter who you were, it hurt to be whacked on the neck. He stood and made his way to where Patroclus was sitting. Moving Patroclus' hand, he revealed a bright red patch, which he knew would at least bruise.

“Alright,” he said. “that's enough for now. That would have been a killing blow anyway. Next time get your guard up.” This wasn't the situation that warranted a hit on the shins. His mistake had cost him enough to not make the same mistake again.

Medeus offered his hand, which Patroclus took, and and pulled him to his feet. An arm was thrown over Patroclus' shoulders, and he grinned apologetically.

“You going to be okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Patroclus said, rubbing his neck again. “You know, you're going to be the ruin of me.”

Medeus laughed. “My friend, I would be honoured to bring about your doom.”

“Where does that leave me?” Achilles asked, coming over to his friends.

“Why, You'll be the one to raise him in all glory, of course,” Medeus laughed. “If I'm lucky, I can help bring you both down!”

“So that leaves me to bring about Achilles' glory?” Patroclus said, laughing now. “Where's the balance in that?”

“It's a perfect balance,” Medeus said, throwing his other arm around Achilles' shoulder. “See, you can't bring about his doom but still have him raise you in glory without him looking the complete idiot—it just doesn't work like that. Nor can I raise him in glory, yet still curse you. Besides, I'll get plenty of glory if I can bring down two great warriors.”

“Yeah, or you'll be cursed by all mankind forever,” Achilles said.

“Not if I go about it the right way,” Medeus said. “It'll take some thought, though...”

“Alright, you three,” Chiron said. “Beat it. Go do whatever it is boys do these days.”

Medeus took a hold of Patroclus' wrist and ran full speed into the forest. Achilles paused for a moment, taken off guard, before running after his friends. Chiron shook his head, and turned to make his way back to his cave. A storm was coming, and it was making his leg act up again.

“Speaking of being the death of someone...” he grumbled. “I'm getting too old for this. I wonder if they won't be the last group I ever take on.”

~*~

Later that night, as the boys were sitting outside around the fire, Chiron called Achilles into the cave with him. The boy looked at him with inquisitive blue eyes, and Chiron couldn't help but give a crooked smile.

“I've got something for you,” he said. “I was originally going to wait, to see how you do, but...” he paused to take a breath, and lowered himself to sit on a stool. “See that spear, over by the wall? That's yours.”

Achilles' face lit up as he looked at the spear. It was a fine golden brown, and the blade shone in the light from the fire outside. Achilles wrapped his hand around it—it was still somewhat too big, but Chiron wanted him to be able to use it when he was grown.

“It's made from ash wood from this mountain,” Chiron said. “You won't be able to lift it, yet. I thought you might want something to work up to. But if you don't, you may never be able to use it. It's much heavier than any other you'll use in your lifetime. I wanted to make something for you, that only you can use. All heroes need something special of their own, right?”

Achilles looked around at his teacher, smiling proudly. Then his face fell slightly.

“Patroclus and Medeus might be jealous,” he said, looking at the ground.

“Don't worry about them,” Chiron said, getting to his feet once again, with a groan. “They might be, at first. But knowing the two of them, they'll get over it fairly quickly.”

Just as Chiron predicted, Medeus and Patroclus did look somewhat jealous at first. By the end of the day, though, Medeus was laughing about how hard Achilles would have to work, since it was no good having a weapon that you couldn't even use. Patroclus rolled his eyes and said nothing, but Chiron could see that aged look in his eyes again, and knew that Patroclus had come up with some reasoning that would probably be over the heads of Achilles and Medeus. The old teacher had learned some time ago not to ask what the boy was thinking, because somehow it always managed to knock him on his ass.

In the meantime, he was beginning to think that maybe it was about time he teach the boys a little bit of the arts. It couldn't be too long before Patroclus and Medeus would be leaving him, even if it was for intervals. He refused to think that either of them would be getting married—it always bugged him that marriage was what parents seemed to think about from the start. Both of them had only just started reaching puberty, and for now he just wanted the three of them to be his students.

~*~

Confrontations

Medeus whispered something in Patroclus' ear, causing the other boy to glare at him.

 

“Shut up,” Patroclus snapped.

 

“I would've,” Medeus said, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

 

“Would've what?” Achilles asked.

 

The three of them were bathing. Medeus and Patroclus had been having a private conversation nearly the whole time, and Achilles was tired of it. For some time now, the older two had gotten in the habit of leaving him out of conversations, and sometimes it even felt like they were blatantly excluding him.

 

“I would've talked to that girl we've been seeing around here,” he said. “The one from the village, with red hair. Her friends aren't bad looking either.”

 

Achilles frowned. “Is girls all you think about anymore?”

 

“Of course not,” Medeus said, giving his fake-innocent expression. It was soon ruined by a wicked smirk, and his eyes slid over to Patroclus. “I also love to think about pretty--” he gave a yell, then a laugh as Patroclus sent a splash of water at his face.

 

Achilles looked between the two as a glaring match passed between them. It almost seemed like they were having an argument without saying a word. Finally, Medeus shrugged and turned away.

 

“You're so lucky,” he said. “You got Patroclus to protect your virgin ears.”

 

Achilles' expression darkened. He had to admit, he wasn't entirely sure what a virgin was. However, he knew it was something girly, and that he didn't want Patroclus to let him be like that.

 

“Tell me,” he said, angrily. “What were you talking about?”

 

Medeus smiled. “It's his own choice,” he said to Patroclus. “You have no right to stop me. You see,” he said as he turned back to Achilles. “I caught Patroclus watching some girls bathing the other day.”

 

Patroclus turned red and smacked more water at Medeus. Achilles looked at his friends in disbelief.

 

“That's gross,” he said. “Why would you want to do that?”

 

Medeus laughed, and Patroclus turned a darker red and slid deeper into the water.

 

“Aw, little Achilles,” Medeus teased. “You'll understand when you're older.”

 

Achilles looked away, suddenly angry and hurt. Sometimes the teasing had a way of doing that, and his age was an especially sore spot.

 

“Shut up,” he growled.

 

Medeus' smile faded, and he said, “Hey, I'm sorry. I wasn't serious.”

 

“Yes you were.”

 

Patroclus was looking between his friends, frowning slightly, probably contemplating the best way to stop a full confrontation. Perhaps it was their straightforward personalities, or maybe Patroclus' dislike of arguing, but Achilles tended to clash with Medeus most often. Either way, it was always Medeus who was unable to know when to stop teasing, and Achilles who was unable to keep his temper. These problems seemed to be coming up more and more often as they got older, and Achilles started to notice the age gap more.

 

Achilles was by no means stupid, nor blind. His friends had gone through physical changes over the past year or so quite different from his own—they suddenly got significantly taller and gained bulk; neither of them had quite the soft face shape as before, and hair had started growing on their arms and legs, along with other parts; there were other things too, though he didn't understand them. Changes in their demeanors, a sudden consciousness toward others their own age, and would sometimes wander off closer to a village they had found at the base of the mountain. And Achilles understood that somehow, this was an enormous step toward manhood, and it became clear that, until this happened for himself, he was still a child.

 

Patroclus suddenly rose from the water and reached for his chiton.

 

“Let's go,” he said. “It's gonna start getting dark, and I'm getting wrinkles.”

 

“Stop being such a woman,” Medeus said, laughing. Still, he got out of the water, and after a moment Achilles followed.

 

He was woken up late that night by Patroclus and Medeus talking quietly. They were facing each other, Medeus with his back to him. Achilles wished he could see his face, but contented himself with the fact that he could at least watch Patroclus' expression.

 

“We should tell him,” Medeus was saying.

 

“He's only nine years old,” Patroclus said.

 

“So what? He's going to have to know eventually. Chiron clearly said that he was only explaining this once, and as far as I'm concerned, that means we have to tell Achilles. I'd rather just get it over with.”

 

“Fine, go ahead. But I'm not going to.”

 

“That's not fair.”

 

“Do you really think he'll understand? And if he does, will he believe us?” Patroclus' eyebrows came together, and Achilles gave a small smile, before he remembered that he was arguing against telling Achilles something.

 

Medeus sighed. “Why not? When have we ever lied to him? Flat out lied?”

 

Patroclus looked away, as if debating with himself. “Would you really want to do this, though? He's still quite a bit away—three years, at least. Why not let him still be a child, while he can?”

 

A lump came to Achilles throat, and for the first time ever he found himself hating Patroclus for his decisions. He couldn't understand why he would want him to stay like he was, to keep him from growing up.

 

“They do worse in Sparta,” Medeus said. “They--”

 

“We're not in Sparta,” Patroclus said, looking exasperated. “Why shouldn't we allow him to stay ignorant for just a little while longer? It's not like explaining this to him is going to make him grow up any faster.”

 

Medeus was silent. After a little while, he asked, “Why are you so protective of him? And don't pull that 'little brother' crap on me again.”

 

Patroclus looked confused. “I wouldn't know what else to tell you.”

 

“I noticed something today,” Medeus said. “When Achilles' hair is wet, it's just about the same shade as that girl you like so much.”

 

Patroclus shook his head, smiling now. “I hadn't. It can't be anything but coincidence.”

 

Medeus reached out a hand and touched Patroclus' face, then took a strand of his hair. Patroclus was focused completely on Medeus, with a strange look on his face, which Achilles recognized but still couldn't name. But then his eyes shifted up to look at Achilles, and their eyes met.

 

“Y'know,” Medeus said. “You're really--”

 

“Achilles,” Patroclus said, sitting up. “Why aren't you asleep?”

 

“You two woke me up.”

 

Medeus was looking at Achilles now too, with another unreadable expression. He and Patroclus glanced at each other, and they were having another one of their silent battles. It was Patroclus that broke the gaze this time, his face resolute.

 

“Go back to sleep,” he told Achilles, and then looked at Medeus with hard eyes.

 

“Fine,” Medeus snapped, and turned on his side so that he wasn't looking at Patroclus. “Whatever. It's your call.”

 

Achilles lay on his back and cradled his arms in his hands. He wanted to yell at Patroclus, to tell him that he didn't want secrets kept from him. And for the first time, he wanted to seriously hurt his oldest friend. Yet, at the same time, he wanted to run over and hug him, and be able to lay down next to him and have them sleep side by side, the way they used to. But he didn't. He just lay there until he fell asleep.

~*~

Confrontations

Medeus whispered something in Patroclus' ear, causing the other boy to glare at him.

 

“Shut up,” Patroclus snapped.

 

“I would've,” Medeus said, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

 

“Would've what?” Achilles asked.

 

The three of them were bathing. Medeus and Patroclus had been having a private conversation nearly the whole time, and Achilles was tired of it. For some time now, the older two had gotten in the habit of leaving him out of conversations, and sometimes it even felt like they were blatantly excluding him.

 

“I would've talked to that girl we've been seeing around here,” he said. “The one from the village, with red hair. Her friends aren't bad looking either.”

 

Achilles frowned. “Is girls all you think about anymore?”

 

“Of course not,” Medeus said, giving his fake-innocent expression. It was soon ruined by a wicked smirk, and his eyes slid over to Patroclus. “I also love to think about pretty--” he gave a yell, then a laugh as Patroclus sent a splash of water at his face.

 

Achilles looked between the two as a glaring match passed between them. It almost seemed like they were having an argument without saying a word. Finally, Medeus shrugged and turned away.

 

“You're so lucky,” he said. “You got Patroclus to protect your virgin ears.”

 

Achilles' expression darkened. He had to admit, he wasn't entirely sure what a virgin was. However, he knew it was something girly, and that he didn't want Patroclus to let him be like that.

 

“Tell me,” he said, angrily. “What were you talking about?”

 

Medeus smiled. “It's his own choice,” he said to Patroclus. “You have no right to stop me. You see,” he said as he turned back to Achilles. “I caught Patroclus watching some girls bathing the other day.”

 

Patroclus turned red and smacked more water at Medeus. Achilles looked at his friends in disbelief.

 

“That's gross,” he said. “Why would you want to do that?”

 

Medeus laughed, and Patroclus turned a darker red and slid deeper into the water.

 

“Aw, little Achilles,” Medeus teased. “You'll understand when you're older.”

 

Achilles looked away, suddenly angry and hurt. Sometimes the teasing had a way of doing that, and his age was an especially sore spot.

 

“Shut up,” he growled.

 

Medeus' smile faded, and he said, “Hey, I'm sorry. I wasn't serious.”

 

“Yes you were.”

 

Patroclus was looking between his friends, frowning slightly, probably contemplating the best way to stop a full confrontation. Perhaps it was their straightforward personalities, or maybe Patroclus' dislike of arguing, but Achilles tended to clash with Medeus most often. Either way, it was always Medeus who was unable to know when to stop teasing, and Achilles who was unable to keep his temper. These problems seemed to be coming up more and more often as they got older, and Achilles started to notice the age gap more.

 

Achilles was by no means stupid, nor blind. His friends had gone through physical changes over the past year or so quite different from his own—they suddenly got significantly taller and gained bulk; neither of them had quite the soft face shape as before, and hair had started growing on their arms and legs, along with other parts; there were other things too, though he didn't understand them. Changes in their demeanors, a sudden consciousness toward others their own age, and would sometimes wander off closer to a village they had found at the base of the mountain. And Achilles understood that somehow, this was an enormous step toward manhood, and it became clear that, until this happened for himself, he was still a child.

 

Patroclus suddenly rose from the water and reached for his chiton.

 

“Let's go,” he said. “It's gonna start getting dark, and I'm getting wrinkles.”

 

“Stop being such a woman,” Medeus said, laughing. Still, he got out of the water, and after a moment Achilles followed.

 

He was woken up late that night by Patroclus and Medeus talking quietly. They were facing each other, Medeus with his back to him. Achilles wished he could see his face, but contented himself with the fact that he could at least watch Patroclus' expression.

 

“We should tell him,” Medeus was saying.

 

“He's only nine years old,” Patroclus said.

 

“So what? He's going to have to know eventually. Chiron clearly said that he was only explaining this once, and as far as I'm concerned, that means we have to tell Achilles. I'd rather just get it over with.”

 

“Fine, go ahead. But I'm not going to.”

 

“That's not fair.”

 

“Do you really think he'll understand? And if he does, will he believe us?” Patroclus' eyebrows came together, and Achilles gave a small smile, before he remembered that he was arguing against telling Achilles something.

 

Medeus sighed. “Why not? When have we ever lied to him? Flat out lied?”

 

Patroclus looked away, as if debating with himself. “Would you really want to do this, though? He's still quite a bit away—three years, at least. Why not let him still be a child, while he can?”

 

A lump came to Achilles throat, and for the first time ever he found himself hating Patroclus for his decisions. He couldn't understand why he would want him to stay like he was, to keep him from growing up.

 

“They do worse in Sparta,” Medeus said. “They--”

 

“We're not in Sparta,” Patroclus said, looking exasperated. “Why shouldn't we allow him to stay ignorant for just a little while longer? It's not like explaining this to him is going to make him grow up any faster.”

 

Medeus was silent. After a little while, he asked, “Why are you so protective of him? And don't pull that 'little brother' crap on me again.”

 

Patroclus looked confused. “I wouldn't know what else to tell you.”

 

“I noticed something today,” Medeus said. “When Achilles' hair is wet, it's just about the same shade as that girl you like so much.”

 

Patroclus shook his head, smiling now. “I hadn't. It can't be anything but coincidence.”

 

Medeus reached out a hand and touched Patroclus' face, then took a strand of his hair. Patroclus was focused completely on Medeus, with a strange look on his face, which Achilles recognized but still couldn't name. But then his eyes shifted up to look at Achilles, and their eyes met.

 

“Y'know,” Medeus said. “You're really--”

 

“Achilles,” Patroclus said, sitting up. “Why aren't you asleep?”

 

“You two woke me up.”

 

Medeus was looking at Achilles now too, with another unreadable expression. He and Patroclus glanced at each other, and they were having another one of their silent battles. It was Patroclus that broke the gaze this time, his face resolute.

 

“Go back to sleep,” he told Achilles, and then looked at Medeus with hard eyes.

 

“Fine,” Medeus snapped, and turned on his side so that he wasn't looking at Patroclus. “Whatever. It's your call.”

 

Achilles lay on his back and cradled his arms in his hands. He wanted to yell at Patroclus, to tell him that he didn't want secrets kept from him. And for the first time, he wanted to seriously hurt his oldest friend. Yet, at the same time, he wanted to run over and hug him, and be able to lay down next to him and have them sleep side by side, the way they used to. But he didn't. He just lay there until he fell asleep.

~*~

Patroclus sighed and shifted where the hay he lay on itched his bare back. He and Medeus had stopped at the village at the base of the mountain. Somehow, money had magically appeared in Medeus' hand—not enough for a room at the local inn, but enough to pay someone to keep their horses in their stable. Medeus was a tricky person, and when he let it “slip” that they didn't have a place to stay, the owner of the stables offered a place in his house. The hospitality didn't entirely go to waste; Medeus said he didn't dare intrude on the house, and just asked to be allowed to sleep in the stable. The owner frowned slightly, but Medeus insisted, and eventually he relented. Still, the two of them were given some warm food and blankets, and told to that they only need ask if they needed anything else.

 

The true reason for his insistence were soon revealed. A tricky person indeed, Patroclus thought, with a small snort. Not that he didn't enjoy it—one would be insane not to. However, afterward, when they held each other, Medeus seemed sad, almost as if they'd never seen each other again. When Patroclus asked about it, he said that he was going to be called to join his mother in Colchis soon, although he didn't know when. He was the only living heir to the throne, and had a duty. Even when Patroclus assured him that he'd be back before that happened, the darker boy still seemed melancholy.

 

This morning, however, he seemed to be completely back to normal as he dressed and moved about. It worried Patroclus to some extent, wondering how often he hid what he felt.

 

“You boys awake?” A woman came in, carrying a basket, and gave a sort of fond smile when they both looked at her. “I brought you two some breakfast, and a little for the road.”

 

Patroclus returned the smile gratefully. “You and your husband are too kind to us.”

 

“Don't worry about it. It's not much, just some bread and fruit, and a little cheese. But it's the best we could do.”

 

“Thank you, Missus,” Medeus said. “We really appreciate it.” When she left, he sighed in mock-disappointment. “And here I was hoping they'd sent their daughter to feed us.”

 

Patroclus threw a handful of hay at him. “You're insatiable,” he said, laughing. “Wasn't last night enough for you?”

 

Medeus laughed, his eyes shining with mischief. “I was hoping for you, actually,” he said. “She's the one with the red hair you like so much. And you'd be able to lose both virginities in less than a day.”

 

He gaped for a moment, before shutting his mouth with a snap. “Why you dirty...I can just go hire myself a whore, you know.”

 

A slight frown crossed Medeus' face. “Your first time should never be with a whore. And at least village girls pretend to be coy, and you can have a little fun coaxing them into it.”

 

Shaking his head, Patroclus said, “You're never one to just get things over with, are you?”

 

“Sex should never be something you 'get over with'. And in any case, you should always try to have as much fun with life as you can, under whatever circumstances the gods put you under. And village girls are fun.”

 

“How would you know this?” Medeus smiled at the question, and bit into a chunk of bread. So that was where he disappeared to every once and a while. “Someday some girl's father is going to catch you deflowering his little girl,” Patroclus said. “And he's going to castrate you.”

 

Medeus shrugged. “I'm not too worried about it.”

 

“Of course not,” Patroclus said, shoving the rest of his own bread in his mouth. It ended up being too much, and he choked as it went down. Medeus laughed and got a rude gesture in return.

 

“Oh, no, don't!” he said as Patroclus pulled his chiton on. “I was enjoying that!”

 

“I'd moon you, but you'd like it.”

 

Another laugh, and Medeus stood up. “You take the rest of the food. I'm just going right back up the mountain anyway.”

 

“I had intended to,” Patroclus said, wrapping the bread and fruit up. He put the saddle cloth on his horse, but turned as he felt a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Don't I get a goodbye kiss?” Medeus asked.

 

“I don't think so,” Patroclus said, smirking and turning away. “I'm disappointed in you for taking advantage of all these girls.”

 

“Too bad.” Medeus grabbed Patroclus' wrist and swung him around so that his body was pressed flush against the other boy's. The following kiss, however, was surprisingly gentle. The two of them laughed when Medeus pulled away.

 

They rode west out of town, and stopped once more before parting ways. The darker leaned over and, placing a hand gently on Patroclus' thigh, gave one more soft kiss.

 

“I'll see you soon,” Patroclus said, smiling.

 

“Hopefully. Mother's been trying to put me on a throne as young as possible. Any throne, really.”

 

With one last laugh, Medeus turned his horse and headed back toward the mountain. Patroclus watched for a few moments before turning the opposite direction.

 

He rode south and made a stop at mount Olympus, as he and Achilles had on the way up. That night a sword was kept next to his head as he slept. There were thieves all over these lands. Looking up at the stars, he remembered what he told Achilles year ago, about the warnings of Zeus. Now the weather was calm, and he wondered whether it was because the boy wasn't with him. Now, Achilles would have been thrilled at the challenge, simply because he would be told he couldn't. On the other hand, Patroclus wouldn't have dared, except that someone needed to keep Achilles out of trouble.

 

He had determined to make a stop in Opus. A new horse and decent clothes would be useful, and if he was honest with himself, he still ached to see his father again. He remembered the night Menoetius had told him his fate, and how old the man looked, wondered how old he was now. The thought was pushed back from his thoughts—he didn't want to think about it.

 

The ride from Mount Pelion felt much longer than the one there. He thought about how comforting it had been to have Achilles riding in front of him, and though he had talked the whole way and annoyed him, now Patroclus missed it. The nights were colder, too, out in the open, and he thought about how the blonde boy used to curl up against him when they slept. How long since he stopped doing that? Three years? That sounded about right. He realized that was about the time both he and Medeus had hit puberty, and had started sleeping closer together instead. Did Achilles stop because he knew that they were growing up, and felt distanced from them? He felt bad when he thought about it, and got the sudden urge to ride back, just to hold his friend, and tell him he was sorry, and that he loved him and ask him to come with him.

 

He didn't.

 

When he reached the outskirts of Opus, he stopped a slave boy as he worked in a garden, and told him to run ahead. When the boy protested, Patroclus cut him off, saying, “Please, I need you to go tell Menoetius that his son has arrived. I'll make sure your master knows, and I'll reward you.”

 

The boy's eyes widened, and he barely paused for a moment before dropping his stuff and running toward the house of Menoetius.


	3. Chapter 3

Menoetius didn't look as old as Patroclus had initially feared he would. There were streaks of grey in his hair, and the lines on his face were somewhat more prominent than before, but he seemed as sturdy as ever. When he saw his son, his face lit up, and he appeared even younger. It amazed Patroclus how happiness could take years off a face, and how sadness could age. When the two of them embraces, Menoetius gave a great sigh and kissed his son's hair.

 

“Gods, you've gotten tall,” he said, holding Patroclus out to look at him. “You're already becoming a man so fast...”

 

“No quite yet,” Patroclus said, smiling. “Although I killed my first boar two years ago.”

 

“We've been out of touch too long, no matter what Chiron seems to think about contact between us two.”

 

“I've been getting almost no news at all. Only what the villages hear. Which isn't much.”

 

Menoetius put an arm around the boy's shoulders and let him inside. “Then you wouldn't have heard that I got married again.”

 

Patroclus looked at his father in surprise. “You did?”

 

Menoetius nodded. “Twice,” he said. “They're both political unions. Else I would have simply been content the live the rest of my life with Polymele.”

 

Patroclus could understand how his father could feel that way. Menoetius preferred his company to be a smaller group of close friends, and so rarely held large parties for social purposes. Likewise, he didn't often feel desire for another—the flip side of this, though, was that when he did, he was fiercely loyal. He married Polymele almost a year after his first wife had died. Patroclus was six at the time. Despite the age difference—Polymele was only ten years older than Patroclus—the match had been a good one; not only did Menoetius adore her, but she reciprocated his feelings, and loved Patroclus like a brother.

 

As it turned out, both Patroclus and Menoetius saw her as a breath of fresh air from the latter's two other wives. Philomela was from Athens, and closer Menoetius' age. She had a firm idea of what was proper, and often Polymele didn't fit into that category. Whenever the younger woman came back from some adventure she had with Patroclus, her lips would tighten with disapproval, but she would say nothing. In the meantime, Periopis was younger than Polymele. She the daughter of Pheres, who was a friend of Menoetius and king of Pherae, and she was rather more awkward. Every time Patroclus said something too open—which happened rather often, as Chiron had almost completely neglected teaching the boys anything about manners—she would blush and stare at her feet. After a while of this, he would start getting impatient with her, and leave lest he say something he knew he shouldn't.

 

It had been suggested that he stay for a week or two before heading out again. No matter how he looked at it, he would need to readjust to living in a house with others again. The bed felt a little too comfortable at times, and the food seemed extravagant compared to what he'd been living on, along with relearning what it was appropriate to say when. This last one was easier for him, although every once and a while he would slip.

 

Polymele seemed to take joy in making Patroclus fit to ask for Helen's hand. Although Menoetius encouraged her to some extent, there was a line to be drawn. He was never an extravagant man, and seemed to feel his son should follow the example, for which Patroclus was rather grateful. It seemed like a better idea to show some amount of frugality with Spartans anyway. Still, he was giving a beautiful brown horse, and some rather nice new clothes. Polymele would go out shopping for gifts for him to give, and Menoetius quietly commissioned Patroclus' first set of armour, although he made it clear that he wouldn't get it until he was fully a man. Patroclus felt he may have been a little disappointed if he didn't have to wait—he wanted to be given things when he deserved them, a feeling that he and Achilles had always shared.

 

Menoetius was very interested in what Patroclus had been doing on Mount Pelion. He was surprised to hear there was another boy living and training with them, and Patroclus could see him tense when he told him Medeus' name.

 

“What's he like?” Menoetius said, almost conversationally.

 

“He's great,” Patroclus said. “He's a really good friend—he's smart and really nice. Apparently he gets a bit of trouble from his mother every once and a while. He gets a little exasperated with her.” He felt that it would be best to leave out the exact level of their relationship, and was glad he did when Menoetius let out a sigh.

 

The next day, he asked Polymele about it as the two of them waded in the sea between the rocks.

 

“Well, I don't know too much about her son, but from what I hear Medea's a real piece of work. They say she's a barbarian witch. You stay away from her bad side—it's dangerous even if you don't. Haven't you heard about her?”

 

Patroclus shook his head.

 

“Well, Jason came across her when he was going after the Golden Fleece, and fell in love with her.”

 

“I heard about that—that he gave Aphrodite Medea's credit, and married some other girl.”

 

“That's not even the half of it. See, when the Argonauts were being pursued, she killed and dismembered her own brother, and spread his remains so that they would have to stop and pick him up, in order to give him funeral rights. She was a great user of magic too, and covered a man with a deadly poison, telling him it was a youth potion.

 

“After all this, Jason went to go marry his other girl, and she got really mad. She'd had two of his kids, and killed her own brother for him, betraying her people. She got a guarantee from Aegeas of Athens to give her sanctuary, should she take revenge. So she sent a poisoned dress as a wedding present to the girl, and the girl burned up in it. The bride's father died too, holding his daughter as she writhed in agony. After this, Medea took her children—a little girl and boy—and killed both of them, to spite Jason.

 

“She married Aegeas within a week after this, and nearly nine months later she had another son. Nobody was every able to prove whose son he was. At the time, Aegeas thought he'd lost his only son, and Medea thought her own son would end up on the throne. However, the lost son—that's Theseus—showed up. She recognized the boy before Aegeas did, and nearly tricked him into poisoning the boy. Aegeas figured it out at the last minute, and drove her and the boy out of Athens. It was thought they went back to Colchis, but apparently she left the boy with Chiron. Who knows Chiron's reason for taking him in—maybe he felt that it would be better for him to be raised away from Medea's conspiring, which could very well be true.”

 

Patroclus pulled his legs up to his chest. It hurt that, after years, Medeus had failed to tell either he or Achilles about these things. Anyone would have left it out at first, but he thought after all these years he thought maybe he would trust them enough with this type of thing. Neither of them would have thought any less of him for his family.

 

Chiron had been right in scolding him when they first met, though; he couldn't imagine what it would be like to be hated for his parents. While Patroclus felt Clysonymus' family may be justified in continuing to feel bitter toward him, Medeus had never even done anything to warrant others' spite.

 

He thought about Philomela, and how she would have reacted in learning about his friendship with the son of Medea. He wouldn't feel any shame in defending the other boy, but he refused to bring disharmony his his father's household. So he kept silent about Medeus for the rest of his stay in Opus.

~ ~ ~

The armor that was for Patroclus was made locally, by a man who was a longtime friend of Menoetius. It was by no means armor for the gods, but that wasn't the reason behind the choice smith. Rather, he was gifted with the foresight of how a boy would grow—too many times he had made corslets or greaves for boys who were still far from fighting in wars. He protected investments by giving room for growth, and he was good at it. Indeed, when he brought it over to Patroclus he gave a satisfied smile.

 

“You've still got some ways to go,” he said. “A few more inches, I think, and your shoulders and chest will probably broaden some. You taking them with you?”

 

“I haven't had my first man yet,” Patroclus said.

 

“But you might,” he said. “It's a long way across Thessaly, and if you get in a quarrel--”

 

“I won't kill anyone over a girl.”

 

“People fight over other things than just that,” Menoetius said, sitting on a stool by the window.

 

“I'll be careful who I fight, then.” Patroclus paused. “I'm not going to kill someone over something trivial. I already made that mistake once, I won't do it again.”

 

There was a heavy silence, in which every sound seemed amplified. Finally, Menoetius said, “I know.”

 

The corslet and greaves were stored away, but Patroclus was convinced to bring sword. This he kept wrapped and hidden—he wouldn't wear it at his side yet.

 

A boy was also forced on him, with the reasoning that a prince without a slave wouldn't been taken seriously. His name was Kyros, and he was a good seven or eight years younger than Patroclus. It was a somewhat awkward arrangement. Patroclus was wholly unused to having things done for him. He couldn't tell how long Kyros had been a slave. But he had a resigned manner to him, like he'd given up fighting, as opposed to those born into service, who seemed determined to enjoy life regardless of their station. Patroclus flat out refused to be bathed or dressed, or let Kyros handle his sword.

 

It was a good ten day ride from Opus to Sparta, and Patroclus determined would only stop in a town if it was on the way. If not, they were sleeping under the stars. With some wheedling, he managed to get Kyros a small horse instead of a mule, or worse, an ass. Maybe it was the way they smelled, or the sound they made, but there was something about the animals that he detested. And ignoring the warnings of others, he gave the kid a knife. Patroclus had heard how slaves were treated in Sparta, and so told them it was a matter of protecting his property, and if the boy killed someone, he'd take responsibility. Really, he just didn't want him to get hurt.

 

Kyros took it with a sort to wary surprise. The blade was as long as his hand, although not too sharp. He would have to jam it into someone to be able to do any serious damage.

 

“I could kill you,” he said, looking up at Patroclus.

 

“If you wanted to kill me, you'd find a way,” Patroclus said. “I suppose it would be the quickest way. Besides, I'd prefer to be stabbed, rather than something shameful like being poisoned or smothered in my sleep or something. Though don't get me wrong, I'd prefer you to use it on someone who actually meant you harm.”

 

Kyros seemed to have an increased respect for Patroclus after this. He kept his knife hidden on the inside of his chiton, where it was out of sight but within easy reach. He was also rather pleased with the horse, and kept both it and Patroclus' horse well-fed and beautifully groomed.

 

The goodbye between Menoetius and Patroclus was short. Neither wanted to make a big deal of it, as if they would never see each other again. Polymele decided to ride with them to the edge of town. They talked most the way, but most of it was trivial, even stiff, and he could tell there was something she wanted to talk about, without the risk of eavesdroppers. As he thought, when she pulled her horse to a stop, she took a deep breath, and seemed to be considering her words.

 

“Listen, Patroclus,” she said finally. “You were really young when you had to leave, and the gods forgave you, so nobody said anything, but--”

 

“I shouldn't keep coming to Opus.”

 

Polymele looked like she wanted to cry. “It's not like we don't want you. Your father missed you terribly every day you were god. It's just--”

 

“Polymele,” he interrupted again. “I understand. Really, I do. I wasn't thinking when I came—all I could think about was seeing my father again.”

 

She nodded. “I'm sure we'll see you again sometime, when you're in Phthia again. And I can't wait to see Achilles again, either.”

 

The two of them smiled, and hugged awkwardly from where they were mounted. After a pause, he said, “Does this mean I have to give the horse back?”

 

She laughed. “Get going, you. And good luck winning over that girl, and holding onto her.”

 

“People keep telling me that,” he said. “I'm almost worried about this.”

 

Still, he rode out.

~ ~ ~

Patroclus shifted, then rolled onto his side. It still happened sometimes that the bed, even in a small place like this, was too comfortable, and prevented him from being able to sleep. But that wasn't the only problem—everything just seemed wrong. Despite the cool night, the room seemed almost stuffy, but at the same time he felt the urge to go sleep next to Kyros just to have a body next to his own. And it was so quiet, even though it wasn't that late.

 

The night hadn't ended well, anyway.

 

At dinner, he had been greeted by a man—Las-- claiming to be a king, having founded his own city. He was tall with a bony face. There was something about his face, the way he smiled, the way that he talked that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. And when the man smiled at the wonderful coincidence of their destinations, Patroclus felt a terrible, twisting ache in his stomach. It would have been terribly rude to decline the offer to travel together; there was just no way out of it.

 

Kyros had been equally unhappy about the situation. Las frightened him, and he made it perfectly clear.

 

“Please,” Kyros had pleaded. “Can't we just leave really early, before anyone's awake?”

 

“No,” Patroclus sighed. “We'd meet up again in Sparta again, anyway, and that would be really awkward. We can't bring tension with us into Tyndareus' house.”

 

Finally, Patroclus got up and walked to the window and sat on the sill. The breeze rustled his hair, and he gave a sigh. It was not yet summer, but already the days were hot. It was going to be a bad summer.

 

~ ~ ~

 

They were up early the next day, before the sun had risen. While Patroclus went out for a run—his muscles tended up get sore if he didn't exercise them every day—Kyros packed their stuff and went out to care for the horses. He was brushing down the small horse Patroclus had given him when he suddenly became aware of someone behind him. He glanced back and saw Las leaning against he doorway. His lips tightened, and he turned back to what he had been doing.

 

“Hey,” Las said. “What's your name?”

 

“Kyros.” He wouldn't grave the man with anything but a short answer.

 

“Well, Kyros, how long have you been with your master?”

 

“A couple weeks.”

 

“He's a nice kid.” The man came up and pet the his horse's neck. “I wonder...does he have an erastes yet?”

 

“Yes.” Kyros was surprised at how easily the lie came out, but knew that there was no way he was going to let this disgusting man near either of them.

 

“Oh?” Las said, looking every so slightly doubtful. “What's his name?”

 

“Medeus.” Kyros spat out the first name he could think of. He had heard a few stories about Patroclus' friends, and while he wasn't entirely sure what an erastes was, knew that it somehow involved a close relationship with another man, and knew that Patroclus didn't want it with this man. Las' expression said that he was searching his memory for the name. It was familiar, but he couldn't place it. Instead of giving him time to think, Kyros said, “And even so, he wouldn't be interestd.”

 

“Are you so sure?”

 

“Yes,” he said, praying for Patroclus to come and rescue him. “He's got more important things to think about.”

 

“Oh?”

 

'Yeah.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “Like...training. He was raised by Chiron, you know—he's going to become a great warrior.”

 

Las laughed, and Kyros felt his face heat up. It seemed, though, that the gods had finally taken pity on him, as Patroclus showed up in the yard at that moment. The older boy frowned slightly.

 

“Are you finished preparing for us to leave?” he asked.

 

“Yes, sir,” Kyros said, looking at the ground suddenly. “We can leave at any time.”

 

“Well, then,” Las said, looking between them. “I guess I had better get moving, as I'm obviously the one holding us up.”

 

When the man left, Patroclus walked over to where Kyros was standing. He rearranged some of their things. After a few minutes, he turned to Kyros again.

 

“What was he saying to you?” he asked.

 

“He asked if you had an erastes.”

 

“...what'd you tell him?”

 

Kyros bit his lip, then said, “I...kind of...told him Medeus was your erastes...but you wouldn't be interested anyway.”

 

Patroclus laughed loudly. “Well,” he said, grinning. “I guess that's not so far off. I suppose you could say that wasn't much of a lie at all.” He shook his head when Kyros looked at him confused, and ruffled the boy's hair. “We'll just stick with that story. I'll tell you, we'll have to make a sacrifice to Hermes at some point. I'm sure that man won't question it so much. Heh...Medeus is going to love this one.”

 

Kyros relaxed as Patroclus continued to shake his head and look amused. Both were much less tense by the time Las returned with his own servant followed him on an old mule. The boy was somewhere between Kyros and Patroclus' age, and looked more careworn than any of them. Kyros looked at him curiously, but didn't say anything—the boy gave the impression that he was scared to communicate with anyone in the presence of Las.

 

As they rode, Las asked questions that seemed to only be small talk, but Kyros could tell that they were carefully chosen with the purpose of gleaning information. It seemed Patroclus could tell this too, and was giving answers that were just as careful. Every once in a while, he would hesitate a moment, and it became apparent to Kyros that, while his master was incredibly smart, he wasn't so good at communicating his thoughts. He made a note to remember to add an extra something in his sacrifice to the god. In the meantime, he discreetly shifted his dagger to make sure it was within easy enough reach. He wasn't smart, but he wasn't dumb, either, and Kyros was determined that Las should keep his hands to himself.


End file.
